And Laura's asleep in my bed
As I'm leaving she wakes up and says,
"I dreamed you were carried away on the crest of a wave
Baby, don't go away, come here."
- Bright Eyes

My name is Laura. I am sixteen years old. My fingers are always stained with red ink, which I like writing in best. I scribble on receipts when I have a verse in my head that I need to get out. I write like breathing, it is more necessary than anything. I'm not looking to impress anyone, these are simply adolescent scribblings, an expression of where I am right now, my heart in type. I am overdramatic, I am sarcastic, I am difficult and complicated and probably horrible to deal with most of the time. I want to be a writer. That's it. There's nothing else I've ever wanted to do. So I will try to remember that as I'm writing out of my cardboard box.